A Soul Like The Rain
by Hikikomori
Summary: Bakura never used to get caught... Not like this. He couldn't allow himself to let his facade, his fake mask fall apart...


Here we have my _new_ angsty-angsty Bakura fic!  
...Er...I'm currently writing and, well, _this fic isn't finished yet_...

And yes, I'm out of town, far away from 'the city'. But as soon as I've arrived at home, I'll continue to write on this. I can almost promise you guys, right away that this won't be a long fic with several chapters. I'll try to limit it to one single chapter, call it a one-shot if you like **:3**Speaking of nothing, when my insperation is back, I WILL _try my best_ to continue on _**Underage**_ and maybe even _**Voices, They Say His Demonic Name**_.  
Love you lots, my dear fans!!

* * *

**_"Bakura! We have to get you inside!"  
_**  
The rain started to fall, like the tears inside of him. They fell down his cheeks from the corner of his tired, blood-shot eyes.

He quickly dried them away though, because to him, crying was a sign of weakness and failure.

He couldn't let the tears tear apart that huge, concrete-hard wall he'd put up before him, to hide himself from the world and therefore protecting the people in it.

He slid his hand in the only pocket he had on his torn jeans. That pocket server as a secure vessel for that object he held so dear, yet hated with every fibre of his being.

Bakura was sitting on the porch, wet from head to toe because of the continuously pouring rain.  
He didn't mind really, outside in this kind of weather he could finally allow himself to slightly give away some of his real self.

In the rain he didn't have to be a lie, fake.  
But it couldn't rain all the time, could it?

And this was what hurt the most.

The rain was the only one, the only thing that, in a strange, twisted way understood him.  
He couldn't explain it, make it justice.

And so, he slit the skin on his thighs, upper arms and wrists open, letting the blood flow freely.  
Just like the rain.

He never got caught, so he sat there quietly, studying the torn tissue, how I looked, the colour of it, and the deep crimson inside it that behaved like a miniature waterfall.

He ran a finger through it, tasting the metallic, copper liquid on his lips.

He repeated this until he began to feel dizzy, light-headed. He clutched his thigh, tensing it, to try to regain his balance, keep himself from falling.

But in a matter of seconds, his feet slipped on the wet surface of the wood-floor and he was on the ground.

He never _used_ to get caught.

* * *

Ryou had enjoyed reading a pleasant book, sitting all alone in his favourite couch in the living room, when he suddenly heard something or someone fall to the floor… outside…

By instinct, he knew that something was really wrong, his heart (seeming to throb in his throat) violently and painfully alarmed.

And then he saw the man of his dreams, his role-model, and very beloved and close friend, in the rain, lying on wet wood, literally bleeding his soul out...

Ryou knew how Bakura took care of, handled his emotional pain. It wasn't until now, that he got this close to see it.  
He also knew that Bakura never would let anyone in, behind his shield, his wall, façade and mask. Something was really, really wrong…

"Bakura!" Ryou screamed, running towards the extremely pale figure in the dark. His skin acted like a torch, illuminating him, like a shining angel.

A fallen angel. That was what Ryou called Bakura in his dreams.

"We have to get you inside!" The younger of the two struggled to lift the stiff, motionless body before him.  
Beeing unconscious, that body felt like the body of a corpse.

"Why, Bakura, why would you do such a thing…? Right here in the open! What's the matter with you?" Ryou laughed darkly, he might as well be talking to a wall.

…Wasn't that what he, and so many others had done, these past few years…?  
The moment a knife, scalpel, razorblade, box-cutter or nail had caught Bakura's eye, the dark, downward spiral of no return had embedded itself under his skin.

Ryou could see it in his eyes, that addiction that made everything selfdestructive.

"Oh, please, wake up! Atleast… do something to let me know you're still alive…!" The words were cut of, his breathing hitched as he tried to fight the urge to break down and cry.

* * *

Finally, after a long moment of silent crying from Ryous part, an incoherent mumle escaped Bakuras lips.  
"Yes! Yes, you're alive!" Ryou triumohed, hugging the other male with such force you could hear the wheezing when Bakura tried to breath.

"Can't. Breath. Let. Go. Of. Me!" He choked and made an awfully bad atempt at pushing Ryou away, although his arms was to weak to actually move properly.

Ryou panicked, but moved away. "Y-You okay, Bakura?"

He locked eyes with the paler and older of the two.  
Bakura just "hmph-ed" and said:  
"Do I _look_ like I'm OK to you?"

He grimaced as the effort of trying to support himself with his arms caused a shot of extreme pain to surge through him.  
"Fuck..."

"Damn it, Ryou. Why'd you have to do this?"  
"Do what?" Ryou blinked and stroked back a hair of his own, wet from blood.

"I didn't plan for this... You weren't suppose to see it." He almost sulked, kicking the nearest table he could find."  
"Then who were?"  
"No one."

"Did you honestly think that you could hide this forever? I'm sorry, Bakura, but I have to crack that stupid bubble of yours. You have to realise... That this shit is killing you. Maybe not literally, but you're... just not _there_ anymore. When we talk to you your eyes aren't present and everything you focus on is trying to fuel that tank with a nametag that reads "SELFDESTRUCTIVE"."  
Ryou sighed, he had repeated this over and over in his head, and when he finally got the opportunity to say it... The reaction he had hoped for didn't show itself.

Bakura just laid there, his features blank.  
"Did you listen to anything of what I was saying?" Another sigh from Ryou.

"I listen to _every fucking thing_ you have to say. But that doesn't mean I agree."

"...I'm going out for a smoke."

"But... Wait!" Ryou reached out and grabed his friend by the part of his wrist that weren't entirelt cut up.  
"Just let me... have some time for myself. Please, Ryou." A begging voice...

Ryou swallowed, bit his lip but reluctantly let go.

And Bakura pretended to be oblivious to the extreme hurt saw in his soulmates eyes.  
He hated that his little "hobby" hurt his friends more then it was intended to hurt himself.

He locked, the door leading out to the balcony after him, spit on the ground and picked up his lighter that were on the table.  
He had little success in lighting that cigarette though, his hands were shaking violently. But after some time, it was burning, turning into beautiful, gray ash.

Wether it was from the blood loss, adrenaline or angsiety from as always, again and again, hurting Ryou... He couldn't figure out which one, despite the thoughts he directed towards it.

He growled softly and clenched a fist.  
"Fuck this."

He killed the flame of his cigarette by putting it out on a piece of open, un-scarred flesh, the first skin layer easily melting away.

Then he unlocked and opened the balcony door, peaked inside and said with a strong, high and confident voice:

"Ryou. I just wanted you to know that, right now, I'm going to jump. I'll kill myself and put an end to it all."


End file.
